


for your hot heart

by inlovewithnight



Category: Bandom, Black Cards, Cobra Starship
Genre: Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-24
Updated: 2011-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-23 01:17:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight





	for your hot heart

This isn't the first time they've done this, but it's the first time they planned it in advance. Booking the same flight was sloppy, and Gabe's smirkiness about it pisses Bebe off; she ignores him the whole flight, flicking through a magazine and keeping her headphones on.

There's a text from Pete waiting on both of their phones when they land: _already here waiting got champagne_

Gabe replies to them both, standing there hipshot at the cab stand with his sunglasses on, pointedly not looking at Bebe at all. _fuck that weak shit. get me a bottle of absolut_

"I actually like you better awake," Bebe says, slipping her own sunglasses on. It makes her feel older, more glamorous, more LA. "As hard as that is to believe sometimes."

"You're too sweet to me, baby doll."

"I'm going to put my boot up your ass. See how sweet you think I am then."

He just laughs and goes back to scrolling through his phone. She tilts her head back and breathes deep, reminding herself that getting angry never does any good. Be serene, be at one with the universe, be badass. Be a star.

Her phone chirps with another message from Pete, just to her this time. _i cant wait to be on you_

She's fucking a couple of total douchebags. It's a good thing they're cute.

**

They get to the hotel room and find that Pete's already most of the way through a bottle of champagne. He's sprawled out on the bed, stripped down to toothpaste-blue boxer-briefs, frowning intently at the Food Network.

"If you get hotter for Paula Deen than you do for me, we're gonna have to talk," Gabe says, throwing his duffel onto a chair. "Come say hi, Pete."

"Hi, Pete." Gabe flips him off and Pete returns the gesture, lifting the champagne bottle to his mouth again. His eyes fix on Bebe, wide and a little glazed and a lot hungry. She shrugs her jacket off and boosts herself up onto the edge of the dresser. "Hi, Miss B."

"Do you get hotter for Paula Deen than for Gabe?"

"That's not a fair question."

"What's not fair about it?" Gabe reaches across the bed, thumb and forefinger curled to deliver a hard flick to Pete's cock through his underwear, and Pete flails frantically, trying to cover himself and hit Gabe at once without spilling the champagne.

"Because she's on TV and you guys were, like-- _dick_ , stop it--stuck in traffic, or whatever. Not _here_."

Bebe raises an eyebrow and swings her legs, bouncing the three-inch heels of her boots off the front of the dresser. "So you're hot for whoever's available?"

Pete glances at her and then twists onto his side, drawing his knees up to his chest to protect his junk. "More or less. Dude, knock it off! So not cool."

"Whatever." Gabe moves away and heads for the minibar, squinting at the bottle of champagne waiting on top and then ignoring it in favor of the row of tiny bottles of Absolut. "How's the little guy?" Pete frowns at him, brow furrowed suspiciously. Gabe returns the look. "Uh, your son?"

Pete sighs and slumps back against the pillows. "Oh! He's fine. He's awesome. I wasn't sure if you meant him or if you were coming up with weird nicknames for my dick."

Bebe definitely needs new boyfriends. There is just no way.

**

It takes a good twenty minutes for the two of them to get through their greeting rituals, which features a lot of making fun of each other, a couple of drinks, and then making out and mumbling to each other in voices too low for Bebe to hear from her perch on the dresser. It's fine; she's used to it. They have all kinds of secret codes that she doesn't give a shit about, based in either history or some weird bro-language that she wouldn't understand if they gave her a dictionary. It's much better to sit and swing her heels and just enjoy the view until they realize she isn't participating.

Gabe catches on first this time, lifting his head from Pete's throat and blinking at her. "What are you doing all the way over there? Fuck, lady. Get over here. And lose the clothes.

"Totally," Pete mumbles from where he's half-squished under Gabe's weight. "Are you wearing that black lacy thing? It's pretty."

"With the bows?" Gabe adds hopefully. "I love those little bows."

"Dude, they're _roses_."

"They are not. Are they?"

She rolls her eyes, but she's grinning; she can't help it. They're cute. "I have two of them, geniuses. And I'd love to come over there, but first I need somebody to help me with my boots."

That's like a specially programmed Pete-signal. He's out from under Gabe, off the bed, and scrambling across the floor on his knees almost before she finishes taking a breath at the end of the sentence. She places her foot on his thigh, hard enough that the heel makes an impression on the skin, and he makes a little noise as his hand slides up her calf to find the top of the zipper.

She can see Gabe out of the corner of her eye, lying back on his elbows on the bed and watching them intently. Pete takes the zipper down and guides the boot off, catching her foot in his hands after he sets it aside and massaging the arch slowly. She looks down at him through half-closed eyes, reveling in the feel of his hands on her and the way he's all tense with concentration. It's fun being the thing that gets him to zero in for a while.

She pulls her foot away and plans the other boot on his thigh, grinding the heel down a little harder. He makes another noise, and so does Gabe; she can see his hands flex against the sheets, making himself hold still. Pete gets this part, Gabe gets other things. That's the way they've set it up and if they don't behave, they don't get anything.

Pete massages that foot too, until she takes it away and eases herself off the dresser, landing lightly on her toes on the floor. She reaches behind her for the zipper on her top, making a little show of how she can't quite reach it.

"Oh, can we help with that?" Gabe asks from the bed, swinging his leg out in an arc to nudge at Pete's back. "Pretty please, say we can."

"Well, if you want to so much." She sits on the edge of the mattress, her back to him, and pulls her hair forward over her shoulder, baring her neck and back. His hands slide up to the bare skin of her shoulders and then down again, one steady against her side while the other pulls the zipper down. She looks up through her lashes and sees Pete kneeling there right where she left him, watching them, eyes wide and dark and dick hard against his thigh.

"Come here," she says. Gabe gets her shiny little top off and out of the way, then slides his arms around her waist and up, cupping her breasts in his hands through the delicate lace. Pete crawls over and waits in front of her, hands resting lightly on her knees, thumbs rubbing slowly over the bare skin.

The panties she's wearing are barely anything. She lets her thighs part and he has his thumbs hooked in the waistband and the fabric down her thighs in a hot second. He presses a kiss to her hip while Gabe pushes the lace down and rolls his thumbs slowly over her nipples, and she lets herself fall back against his chest and close her eyes. He's strong for a skinny fuck, but he'll let her squirm as much as she wants to while Pete goes down on her, especially when it means she's rubbing back against his dick. She can feel him hard and smearing a little bit of wet against her lower back, fucking hot and _ready_ for her. But she's not quite ready for him.

Pete gets her off twice before she pushes him back, dropping back hard on his heels on the floor while Gabe's hands slide down to her waist and swoop her up like a doll, flipping her onto her back on the mattress. "You make me wait for fucking ever," he says, pulling the lace farther down so he can see her tits and pushing her knees back toward her chest in what feels like one extra-complicated gesture. "Not fair."

She makes a face at him, reaching up above her head to catch the edge of the pillow tight. "Gotta give you time to get it up, old man." Pete laughs from the floor and Gabe growls as he gets the condom open, throwing the packet at Pete before he rolls it over his cock and moves up between her legs.

Gabe doesn't talk while he's fucking, which is a nice change of pace, but Pete climbs up on the bed and moves around to kneel above her head. He takes her wrists in his hands, rubbing slowly over the pulse points while Gabe thrusts. And he _talks_ , not his usual jagged pop-culture-flushed stream of consciousness but a low, breathless run of pure dirty thoughts that would make her blush if his face wasn't wet from being between her legs and she didn't have his confidante-slash-partner-in-crime buried in her as deep as he can get and dripping sweat against her skin.

There's not room for a lot of blushing in your life when you're Pete's protege. She's okay with that.

**

When they're lying in a tangled, messy pile of sticky skin and messed-up hair, she fumbles around until she can reach the bedside table and grab her iPhone. "I wanna take a picture," she teases, angling it up above them and closing one eye to squint at the screen. "Smile and say cheese."

"No pictures," Pete mumbles, hiding his face against Gabe's back. "You suck and you're mean."

Gabe nods and pets Pete's thigh. "Plus my hair is shit. No pictures."

"You guys are boring." She settles back against the pillows and flips the phone in her hand. "Can I Tweet? It'll be cryptic. I promise."

"It would be hypocritical of either of us to forbid cryptic Tweeting," Pete says after a minute. "Go with God."

 _30 mins and my hotel room is already trashed_ , she types, while Gabe whispers something in Pete's ear that makes him squawk indignantly. She fucking loves her life.  



End file.
